


Megatron finds a spike

by tragakes (lejf)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bondage But Not Really, Bottom Megatron, Crack, Dub-con ish but not really, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacles but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/tragakes
Summary: It was an enormous specimen for a spike, garnished blue and red like its owner, practically glistening in the cave’s low light.Megatron looked down. His interface panel had popped open — when had that happened? — and his valve was clenching on nothing.He looked up again. Optimus’ spike was still there.





	Megatron finds a spike

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just porn for people who have fun imagining Megatron taking mechanical dick.

The planet was filled with mechanical organics _larger_  than him. Megatron, standing very still, contemplated this — while an enormous camera-eye slid past the thick plates of tree trunks. The mech-organic didn't seem aggressive as it approached, merely curious, and as irritated as he was at the delay, he didn't wish to risk inciting it. A face the size of his body pushed a brass snout at him and in-vented indulgently. Megatron had all the time to wonder if it had _sniffed_  before it ex-vented in a hot gush of air and in-vented again. The face shrunk back slightly, eye cycling. Then it spat on him. 

Megatron shot his cannon right down one of its open nostrils, and in the resulting bellow he was leaping over the nearest root and diving into the undergrowth, swiping aside leaves and branches and brush, tossing his head to clear the liquid dripping down his face. He heard the ground tremble beneath him as the creature behind him rampaged — not towards him, but away.

::Boss, is that another earthquake?::

Megatron ex-vented deeply. This planet was shortening his lifespan. Of all the places for Optimus Prime and his crew to have crash-landed. The blasted Autobots. His Deceptions were searching far and wide, but the terrain and wildlife was more than unfavourable, and everything emitted an electronic signal, obscuring those of the Autobots. 

::No, merely an enraged creature.::

From the ridiculously sized trees rose an outcropping of some kind, a stone cliff face littered with caves. Away from the vegetation, it seemed like somewhere Autobots would hide. He glanced up at it, then wiped at his face again in irritation, scanning whatever the accursed beast had spat at him. It seemed to be some sort of sedative, though too dilute to affect him. As he was looking down at his clawed servos, however, something more concerning occurred.

It began to rain. The first droplet didn’t sting, but he realised instantly that the paint where it had landed seemed a lighter grey, and since he was already scanning for chemical compositions, noticed that it was highly corrosive — enough even to impact their steel if left exposed for too long. Then a leaf gave way to dump a veritable _bucket_ of it over his face.

He sprinted on his pedes through the cursed rain that was suddenly roaring and making his frame hiss.

::Starscream, get out of the sky. Is Skywarp with you?::

::He’s still on the ship, O great and mighty lord. What’s the urgency?::

Megatron let the sarcasm slide, already ducking for cover into the cave system of the cliff face. The rain was coming down impossibly heavier outside, the earth wriggling with it — literally wriggling, because tiny creatures were poking out tendrils from it, soaking up the corrosive acid. 

He plucked branches and twigs from his armour plating, which, as they fell to the floor, unfurled into tiny mechs to scurry away. 

The entire planet was cursed. 

::It appears that a storm is setting in. The rain is corrosive.::

His SIC didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, it was just, :: Oh, frag.::

Whatever he’d seen, Starscream could handle himself. Megatron fired off orders to the rest of his crew, telling them to pull back, or to cover if they couldn’t reach the ship in time. The ship itself had landed beneath an immense sprawling mechanical tree, and if the wildlife here was impervious to the rain, it would be safe there. They would take off into orbit as soon as the rest of them regrouped, and would have to intercept the Autobots when they lifted off from the planet as well, unfavourable as the notion might’ve been. The planet’s surface was proving too difficult.

There was an electrical signal behind him. 

His cannon was levelled at it and humming with charge before he even registered turning around. Some— _thing_  stared back at him, though it didn’t exactly have eyes. It seemed just to be a thin segmented metal rod, dark grey like the stone around it, pointed at him, completely featureless. There were no combat mechanisms as far as he could see, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have any. It shrunk away at his red-optic stare.

He followed it deeper into the cave, cannon still armed, wary of attack, but what greeted him wasn’t an ambush. It was two familiar pedes and a set of hips and a torso with an Autobot brand bound by those segmented-rod mechs. Optimus was in a state of disrepair, deep gashes in his plating, most likely from his ship’s crash, and Megatron realised that the vine-like mechs were _tending_  to him. It was a symbiotic species. Like ‘cleaner fish’ he’d heard about on Sol-3, they were prodding around Optimus’ wounds, their segments opening up to reveal welding tools and delicate little pincers that put wires back in place, as well as picking dirt and dried energon off his frame. They’d flipped open a lot of his plating to scan, including Optimus’ interface panel, and were carefully putting everything together where things needed. One vine was examining Optimus’ spike critically — as critically as an eyeless thing could, at least — though it was an enormous specimen for a spike, thicker than the vines, garnished blue and red like its owner, practically glistening in the cave’s low light. They must’ve pressurised with medical overrides.

Megatron looked down. His interface panel had popped open — when had that happened? — and his valve was clenching on nothing. 

He looked up again. Optimus’ spike was still there. Its owner was still out cold. 

He was considering a terrible thing. But he hadn’t been fragged in _vorns_. It’d never concerned him in the past but suddenly it was very important. 

His pede bumped into something. Optimus’. When had he gotten so close? The vines seemed concerned at his intrusion, bumping against his frame as if to urge him away. Up close the spike seemed even more enrapturing. Megatron had seen enough in his life, though not many were large enough, or on _mech_ large enough, to satisfy him. Before he knew it, it was warm and thrumming under his servos, and he took very delicate care to ensure that he didn’t accidentally scratch them with his claws. 

The chemical analysis was still running in the background, and a HUD warning flashed about some sort of system compromise. Megatron saw it, felt a surge of alarm, and immediately forgot why he was alarmed. The spike he was holding was very nice indeed. It’d stretch him. And attached to such a capable bot as well. He stroked it admiringly, watching as its pressure rose from what was suitably extended for medical examination into something suitable for fragging. 

As it’d turned out, Optimus was laid on some sort of stone slab, though the vines — annoying things, with the way they kept tapping his face, trying to nudge him back — had previously obscured it. Megatron knelt over him, shuffling forwards. His valve was wet enough to be dripping lubricant that splattered over Optimus’ frame. Megatron wasn’t used to being on his knees, and in his hesitant shuffling, brushed his valve over the thick head of Optimus’ spike. The sensation froze him immediately. So he did it again, deliberately this time, the spike’s head just nudging the folds of his valve, and nearly offlined his optics with the feeling. The threat of it, the implication of that spike being so close, just a twitch away from sinking into him, was almost too much to bear. His valve was trying to clutch onto it, pumping and leaking around the tip. 

One servo was still stroking the spike, tilting it back and forth so that it slipped in and out of his folds. The effort to keep his claws out of the way was infuriating. Each time it left him bereft, angling his hips trying to chase its head. Though he ached for it to be inside him, part of the growing feeling in him was hungering for the _chase_. It made each pass of the spike sliding through only more sweeter. His claws were wet with his own fluids, and distantly there was a sloppy sound with each stroke, but he was lost in it. Before he realised it, his hips were mindlessly rolling above Optimus’ spike, and he found himself removing his servos and lowering himself in front of it instead, rubbing the whole of his valve down its length, its solid weight and buzzing heat so close. He was groaning: an enormous mech wanton, sliding up and down a spike like a cheap lap-dancer. He found himself tipping his head back towards the cave’s ceiling, unsure what he was even seeing, or if his optics were online at all. There was only that thick spike beneath him, so so _close_ , parting his folds with its obscene head but never penetrating inside. 

“Megatron?” he heard from somewhere, and onlined his optics to see Optimus Prime staring up at him, servos half-raised, appearing alarmed. Most of his chest was still open and in the process of being welded shut. 

“Yes,” Megatron acknowledged, though it was mostly a gasp, and then, “yes, yes—“ that arched off into a large groan as Optimus’ hips twitched and the head caught _into_ his valve for a moment, pushing his valve apart, sinking into his channel, but just as quickly pulled back. His whine at the loss was touched with static.

“What are you doing?!” Optimus’ voice rose in panicked pitch. Megatron tried to soothe him, but found himself off-balance, sliding forwards, back onto that perfect spike, and it pushed into him slowly, huge, parting his tight valve, and he forgot about what he was going to do in lieu of arching back and clenching down.

“Has anyone ever told you that your spike is obscenely large?” he found himself saying, words mostly indiscernible for the static. He couldn’t remember the last time his valve had been so stretched, the last time he’d felt so full, the nodes inside alive with electricity. “It’s—“

“What are you _doing_?” Optimus seemed even more alarmed this time, lurching up to fit his servos around Megatron’s waist to inevitably pull him off his spike, but one of the vines working on his chest reared up and smacked him straight in the faceplates, and then all of them were smacking him in the face and ineffectually bouncing off his frame until he lay down again, his arms raised to fend off their small relentless attacks. When he was still, they returned to his chest, fixing him. “What happened to you?” His voice was more steady this time, as if the shock had actually throttled him slightly. Megatron nearly missed the question as he flexed and cycled his valve around the spike that was speared in him, the spike that was unmoving but still sending lightning through his body. 

“Nothing happened to me, you fragging idiot, haven’t I wanted this spike forever?”

“No?” Optimus asked, looking confused, and the idiotic confusion on the idiot’s face just made Megatron want to prove him wrong, so he sunk down as far as he could until Optimus’ spike was lined up with more of his nodes he had ever remember stimulating and they _blazed_. His cry echoed through the cave, and it felt so good that he just had to move, lifted his hips to ram them down again until his thighs were clanging against Optimus’ with every bounce. He was abusing that spike against his valve, ramming himself against it deep enough to have it part him wide every time. It was good, so good. Why hadn’t he ever done this earlier?

When Megatron glanced down, seeing the blue and red and white spike wet with his own lubricant and pushing apart his valve, seeing Optimus beneath him still wearing that stupid concerned expression but completely flushed with lust — struck him as just so _Optimus Prime_ that he found himself overloading, taken utterly by surprise. He thought he heard Optimus give a hiss beneath him as his valve rippled and cycled tightly — but Megatron wasn’t done. He kept riding Optimus through the overload, even his venting full of static. “The better question is, what are _you_ doing,” he snarled. “Stop staring and just frag me!”

Optimus’ hips _nearly_ leapt upwards, but if anything, the Prime’s self-restraint was infuriatingly impeccable. “I can’t. You don’t want this.”

Megatron refuted his statement with a particularly deep thrust, burying Optimus’ spike as far into his valve as he could, shuddering with the fullness of it. “What part of this situation do you not understand?”

“My sensors indicate that on your helm there’s aphr—“

Megatron leant down, shoving his face right up by Optimus’, optics burning, his knees splayed out on both sides of Optimus’ hips while his stretched valve sat plugged tightly by the spike between his legs. He sunk onto it with deliberate slowness although his legs were shaking. Optimus’ own optics were flickering against the pleasure, bright and dark through different shades of blue. “Optimus Prime.”

Optimus shut up.

Megatron was close enough to be ex-venting over Optimus’ frame. “Do you want me to  _beg_? I can do it.” He shuttered his optics for a moment, to let himself feel the _need_ and an eon-old buried infatuation coursing through him. He focused on it, dragging it to the surface, not just from his body but from his sub-conscious, feeling it rise like a fire through his energon lines. When he looked up, Optimus was staring, completely spell-bound.

His ‘please’ came out hoarse and scraped the whole way out of his processor.

A clang rang through the cave as Optimus’ self-will snapped and his hips thrust up into Megatron. It took him off-guard enough to give a high whine, and it pushed Optimus’ spike impossibly deeper, rocking him to his very core. Optimus didn’t stop there. He began fragging Megatron with an intensity that he’d only seen reserved for the battlefield, current charging between them.

“Yes,” Megatron was chanting, distantly aware that he was trembling all over, running the back of his claws over Optimus’ frame, feeling the sturdiness of it, the battle-scars, the power thrumming through it — he was perfect, perfect as an adversary in the war and as a sire, as a _mate_ —

He’d said the last line out loud, apparently, and hadn’t realised that Optimus’ chest had been patched up and the vines had retreated so the next thing he knew, he was faced with 4 tons of surging Autobot moving and pressing him down, folding his legs back so that Optimus could drill into him _deeper_ , into a part of his valve that he never even knew existed and nodes that had never known any stimulation were bursting to life like novae inside him. There was an embarrassing warbling sound coming from his vocaliser, mostly static through the mewls, as he overloaded hard enough that he slammed his arms down and arched his back off the floor and optics completely shorted out. He witnessed through flashes of coherence Optimus overloading also, transfluid gushing into him, his spike giving final determined pumps that smeared the liquid into the walls of his valve.

Optimus, gathering him up in his arms even though Megatron was only a little larger, stroking his frame because he was shaking from the stimulation and the back-to-back overloads.

Optimus, settling down on the floor, still holding him.

When his consciousness returned, a vine was picking something off his face. He was in Optimus’ lap, chest-to-chest with the Prime, who had also fallen into recharge. Neither of them had closed their interface panels, and so he pressed a little closer until he lined up with Optimus’ large spike until it sunk into him once more. Groaning, his head fell to rest on Optimus’ shoulder. 

Somewhere, his systems were coming online. It was still storming outside. He’d received a few reports from his Decepticons as to where they had holed up, mostly under trees, apparently, watching in terror as everything in the wilderness terrorised them — no mention from Starscream, though —, albeit nothing urgent. There was also HUD warning that the corrosive rain had soaked into the seam of his right shoulder and compromised one of his minor energon lines, and that the previously analysed ‘mild sedative’ contained nanites that altered the chemical composition to that of an aphrodisiac.

Oh.

He paused on Optimus’ spike, the owner of which hadn’t quite woken yet.

One of the vines diligently bumped his face again, scooping some more of the aphrodisiac off him. No wonder they’d wanted him to follow them in the cave: to fix him. Aphrodisiac was probably a common enough weapon here. He left himself feel a good heap of distain for the giant spitting beast he’d met earlier, then contemplated the situation.

His valve ached in a very pleasant way. Optimus’ spike was still pulsing gently where it rested part-way through his valve.

It was, in fact, a rather good opportunity. He could get the fragging of a lifetime and if word ever spread, could blame it on the aphrodisiac. 

Firstly, though, :: Thundercracker.::

The reply took a while to be received through the intensity of the storm and the undoubtably electrical components of it. Megatron took his time to settle down, further, onto Optimus’ spike, fighting back the urge to move. :: Yes, Megatron.::

::What is Starscream’s condition? Of all bots, he has not reported to me.::

Thundercracker took a suspicious time to reply. In the time it took, Megatron let himself inspect Optimus’ face up close, the sturdy set of his jaw, the lines of his helm… :: He’s fine. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but I’ll let you know if he gets into any trouble.::

::Very good.::

Then, ::Shockwave, I’d like you to fetch Lugnut.:: He fired off co-ordinates. ::He’s taken refuge under a tree, though apparently smaller scavengers are attempting to reach in to claw him. We have scrap in the hold. Use it as a shield from the weather.::

::Co-ordinates received. Task in motion.::

He closed the comm. link to a pair of blue optics peering curiously at him. Holding the stare, Megatron ground his hips down, and Optimus’ servos immediately flew up to grip his hips and just as quickly released them as though scalded. Megatron would’ve found it insulting if it wasn’t so amusing. He pressed himself down deliberately again and _saw_ the turmoil in those optics. 

“Megatron,” Optimus said, processor static-filled and low. The sound of his name from that mouth — which usually was directed at him with only vengeance — let a fresh gush of lubricant from him. 

Megatron dipped his head back into the curve of Optimus’ neck, ex-venting over the sensitive cables there. “Your spike is perfect,” he said, lip-plates brushing over Optimus’ cables. When that didn’t seem to do it, he added, to appeal to that classic Autobot bleeding spark, with just the barest of a grimace to himself, “You’re perfect.” 

It came out a little more raw-sounding than he would’ve liked. 

But it was, apparently, the right thing to say to spur Optimus into action, because the next thing he knew, he was seized between two steady servos and being hauled up and down the Prime’s spike, nodes flaring in him to wipe his mind blank with ecstasy. Whimpers and groans were spilling from his mouth, his claws scrabbling at Optimus’ shoulder plates as his valve that hadn’t parted for anyone since Optimus for vorns was split open again and again. 

“I won’t be able to face you again,” Optimus was saying. “Whenever I see you, I’ll think about fragging you, even on the battlefield in front of all those mechs. You’d open your panel for me, wouldn’t you?”

When Megatron overloaded, Optimus didn’t hesitate for a moment, still ramming into him until Megatron was shaking with the overstimulation but continuing to push back for more, because it wasn’t as though he’d let the Autobot outdo _him_ in stamina. He cycled his valve with abandon, clamping down and rolling his hips. He wanted desperately for Optimus to overload for reasons he couldn’t name. Still Optimus pounded on, until Megatron was practically sobbing with each thrust that sparked a node deep in his valve. 

Transfluid filled him, and Optimus dragged his spike through a few more times before retreating. Megatron felt himself being laid back on the floor, unresisting the man-handling and expecting to be filled again. So it surprised him when a glossa pressed against his folds, burying itself into his valve and circling around, pressing against the ring of nodes at its entrance. A servo landed against his pelvis and pressed in a thumb, Optimus shoving it in aside his glossa, and Megatron had never seen something so obscene in his _life_ , all Optimus’ silver plating streaked with his lubricant between his thighs. Optimus looked up. Megatron overloaded again. 

The world was very bright for a while, waiting for him to come down.

Optimus was running his servos up and down his frame — the blunt brilliance of it.

When Optimus brushed a servo over his spike that he’d unwittingly pressurised, he found himself shaking his head. Decepticons had been on it, writhed on it, screeching their pleasure as a facet of their fanaticism to the cause. They had never even touched his valve, and that was — Megatron realised with startling clarity in introspection, or perhaps it was all made-up slag — because that was what he was supposed to be for his bots: a warhead, dominance, never unravelled. But most of all, he had _dedicated_ himself to representing that when he fragged the wet valves of his loyalists. He had unwittingly categorised his spike to give his followers pleasure. There was… an association to it. If he warped that impression now, it would be almost impossible to extricate after.

So Megatron shook his head, and in Optimus’ expression he saw worry, but not disappointment, which meant that Optimus had offered out of stereotypical Autobot guilt rather than want. 

He needed to worry less. Megatron grabbed him by his shoulder-plates and mashed their mouth-plates together in a messy and vicious kiss, glossa sliding against each other. Predictably, Optimus melted into it. His servos were still running up and down Megatron’s frame as though it were impossible to get his fill of Megatron’s shape. 

Stupid, sentimental Autobot. But Megatron had to admit that it felt nice, all the same.

 

When he woke for the second time, the rain’s pitter was calming. He stretched his limbs, realising that during their recharge, the vine-mechs must’ve picked off the lubricant from his frame. There was no evidence. He almost felt smug and content enough to continue lying there. 

But there was also a gaping coolness at his side. Optimus was standing at the mouth of the cave, shoulders slumped, looking so absolutely morose that Megatron got to his pedes and was looming behind him in an instant. 

Shockwave pinged his comm. link. :: Lugnut has been successfully retrieved.::

The rain had stopped falling.

Ah, Pits. That meant it was time for him to go.

“Megatron—“ Optimus began, at the same moment Megatron said, “The aphrodisiac lost effect halfway through the first round.”

Optimus lost his words entirely, staring up at him in incredulity. 

“I’m must take my leave,” Megatron said instead, turning away from that stare, because the scrutiny felt a bit too intense now that Optimus knew — _really_ knew — that Megatron had enjoyed every last inch of it and wanted it. “I’d ordered my troops to return as soon as the rain ceased.”

He stepped out, and Optimus didn’t even stop him. Instead, his optics were shining with something close to _hope_. Megatron half-dreaded that he’d say something, and half-dreaded that he wouldn’t.

He didn’t really want to leave, did he? 

He was five steps away from the cave, intent on going forever, because there were no options, and it was easier not to look back, and not to bank on the Autobot saying something that wouldn’t make Megatron want to hit him, when, “Megatron, wait!” cut through the air.

“If this is something about _love_ —“ The sky split open above him, thunder drowning out his words as rain poured in a solid wall.

Megatron found himself back in the cave in record time, spitting ‘slags’ and ‘frags’ and ‘Pit’ as his frame hissed from the acid and the dirt that clung to him wriggled away, because the earth out there was all moving, strange shapes lifting out to dance in the accursed miserable no-good rain.

He stood there, facing Optimus, who was restraining a blasted _smile_.

“Well,” Megatron said, trying to pretend he was disappointed, “alright. We can continue.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hold this against me.


End file.
